STORY begins

“You are now tuned in to the news hour, and joining you tonight is… ” Click. That’s enough, I thought to myself as I switched off the TV and tossed the remote onto the bed. It was 11pm on August 14th, and the entire nation was eagerly anticipating the Prime Minister’s Independence Day speech the following day. “No news is good news,” I muttered sarcastically. The mindless banter of spokespersons from various parties continued their usual daily routine, hurling insults at each other. Wasn’t this just a typical spectacle put on by most TV channels?  What a waste of time!”

I tuned into the FM radio, craving some late-night tunes to soothe my soul. It was like going from one mindless box to another, but this one was filled with music. Nowadays, it seems like melodies have been pushed aside for the 11 o’clock slot when the whole nation is fast asleep. After patiently flipping through a few FM stations, I finally settled on 97.2. The slow Tamil numbers from the 1980’s were like a sweet lullaby, lulling me into a half-asleep.

Suddenly, a clear and bold female voice pierced through the music, calling out my name, “Vikram.” I jolted awake and opened the door, only to find no one there. Was it the “news effect” messing with my mind? With so many channels to choose from, I couldn’t help but feel a bit confused.

And then, the voice called out again, “Vikram.” This time, I knew the source – it was coming from the FM radio. Feeling a bit dizzy, I moved closer to the speaker and listened intently. The mystery of the voice had me hooked, and I couldn’t help but wonder what would come next.

The voice proclaimed, “Vikram, this is Mother India.” Startled, I exclaimed, “What?” 

She replied, “Yes, it’s me, Vikram. 

Don’t you fools realize that we have been independent for seventy six years now? I am tired of witnessing countless channels showcasing flag hoisting on Independence Day, year after year, state after state. All of you just gather to pay tribute to the flag for a day and then resume your mediocre work. It has been seventy six long years, Vikram. I had hoped that you all would elevate this incredible country to a position of envy. You boast about having numerous mobile phones, set-top boxes, TV sets, online shopping, and a multitude of new cars on the roads, but it’s all meaningless.

I have selected you, Vikram, to be the recipient of my passionate declaration. 

You shall become my valiant saviour, donning a gleaming suit of armour. I shall bestow upon you extraordinary abilities, granting you the power to enact policies, reshape the rule book, introduce innovative ideas, construct bridges, and pave new roads. With a profound understanding of governance, you will lead this magnificent nation. You are the chosen one, so do not squander time in slumber. Awaken to a fresh dawn and prepare to listen to me each day, at the same hour, on the very same FM channel. It is Mother India, broadcasting exclusively to you. Until tomorrow, farewell.

I pinched myself. Ouch. It was real. What the heck? Am I the chosen one out of millions? With trembling hands, I carefully unplugged the radio and stashed it inside my desk. Anticipation coursed through me as I eagerly awaited 11 pm tomorrow. Who knew what secrets awaited me at that hour tomorrow?